


Yer Chorin' With Yer Sweetie T'other Day...

by twowritehands



Series: Fluffiest Fluff in Letterkenny [1]
Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 11:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: They had been working all morning in their usual rhythm of steady progress and limited conversation.





	Yer Chorin' With Yer Sweetie T'other Day...

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Americans writing Canadian slang and trying not to embarrass themselves

Daryl milked the heifer, crouched on a short stool, whistling and shaking his hair from his eyes. It itched the bridge of his nose and his hands were busy squeezing teets. Nearby, Wayne spread hay. They had been working all morning in their usual rhythm of steady progress and limited conversation.

With the break of spring, chores had begun to multiply around the property. A hard winter had left its mark. Daryl didn't mind the work so long as he worked with Wayne.

This was the only job Daryl ever had--started when he was nine and his single mother needed help making rent--and he never dreamed of anything different. Because of Wayne.

Daryl did a lot of things because of Wayne. Because of Wayne, Daryl learned to fight. Because of Wayne, Daryl stopped going to those youth groups hoping to catch eyes with some well dressed bible humper eager to give a hummer. Because of Wayne, Daryl sold the trailer his mother had worked so hard to pay for.  Because of Wayne, Daryl now lived on the farm, in the house. Because of Wayne, Daryl knew the price of a king sized bed and how fucking hard it was to lug up the stairs and into the bedroom. Because of Wayne, Daryl hadn't had to spend a single winter night alone in years.

Wayne looked good this morning, as he always did. Daryl took as many looks as he pleased. Let his eyes linger as his hands did the milking. Wayne's tucked in button down shirt pulled just right across his shoulders. The plaid was red.  Red was a good color on him. And his long powerful legs drew the eye.

While he worked,  Wayne was doing plenty of his own looking over at Daryl. Daryl always knew when he did, even if he didn't let it be known that he knew. He liked Wayne looking, you see, and didn't want to scare him off from taking that small liberty by catching him every time.

Wayne always made it a furtive glance,  like he still wasn't allowed to look. Like they were still teenagers and Wayne's dad might come around any corner at any time.

So there they worked, trading off looking at one another. But whenever their glances overlapped and their eyes did meet,  Daryl winked. He couldn't help it.

It still made Wayne blush.

These days Daryl was happy to think of the rest of his life purely in terms of how to always make Wayne blush like that in the dusty morning light of the barn.

All at once,  Wayne stopped working and turned,  planting his pitch fork in front of him and standing at a stern parade rest.

“I've got a comment and you shouldn't take offense, but I hope it will open a dialogue on the subject.”

“Get a'ter.”

“Your hair is getting long enough so as to be almost feminine.”

Having been mostly sure the subject was going to relate to Daryl's wink, Daryl found himself thrown for a loop. Stopping the milking altogether,  Daryl ran a hand through his hair.

He supposed it was at its longest ever.  Damn near to his chin when the curls were pulled straight. The thing was, his curls stayed so uncombed and sweaty they didn't hang too bad in the way so he hadn't rightly noticed how long it'd been since his last cut.

“Feminine you say?”

“Ladylike and that.”

“My hair is getting to look ladylike?” Daryl echoed. He wished he had a mirror.  He wasn't liking this at all.

“Positively Stewart-like but with curls. You're going to be a curly Stewart if you don't do something.”

Oh hell he really didn't like that image. “So I should cut my hair is what you're saying.” He’d get a knife and do it now if he was anything close to being like Stewart.

“Well no. Here's the thing. It's your hair and you ought to keep it how you like it. There's just no sense in one person going around telling another person how to do their hair.  You should wear it how you're comfortable with it and you should also think about what serves your purposes and whatnot.”

Wayne must have been thinking on this all morning in that slow and thorough way of his. Examining all sides. Checking morals against reputation and pondering overall quality of life.

“Well to be fair,” Daryl mused out loud.  “The worst of the summer's heat is coming up.  It'd be sweaty and sticky on my neck. Wouldn't be comfortable.”

“That's a Texas sized ten four but consider also, if you will, that going too short can have its drawbacks, too.”

Here we go.  Daryl loved this,  the way Wayne could pick his way methodically and logically through his desires and pitch them to others like it’s a team effort.

“How do you reckon?”

“Well to be candid, when your curls lay over your ears or almost in your eyes,  it preoccupies me. It drives me beyond distraction. It turns my crank. It wakes the snake. It's a bit jiggler.  Your curls on your ears can be a real ball tugger of a situation, Der. But it's your curls and your life and you do what you want with them.  Figger it out.” 

His eyes fell to the tines of his pitch fork and he had that pushed-down-brow and little frown like he was preparing for disappointment or insult.

“Kay…” Daryl smiled, feeling big and bright and happy on the inside. He loved that as efficient as Wayne was at most things,  well almost everything, he had a way of beating around the bush when making points that hit too closely to their bedroom life.

He wanted Daryl to get a haircut but he didn't want him to lose the sexy curls, either. And most importantly he didn’t want it to sound like he was outright asking for the curls to stay. Because that would be too soft.

“Another reason not to go too short,” Daryl mused, “Is that when I'm down the sheets so as to dine on the vine, you twist your fingers in my hair and give a tug. Wouldn't wanna lose that.”

“Can confirm.” Wayne said directly to his pitch fork in a gruff way that spoke of his unease over having his sexlife broadcasted to even the cows. A fierce blush colored the farmer's thick neck.

“So I'll get a trim,” Daryl shrugged.  “Off the neck but on the ears and with enough to hold on to on top.”

Wayne smiled,  a small lift in the crook of his mouth. He took two steps, bent and pecked his lips against Daryl’s, turned in his abrupt way and went back to pitching hay.

Daryl shot his hand out and popped Wayne on the ass while he was near enough. Wayne danced out of the way but with a boyish laugh followed by an attempt to adopt his father's stern warning voice. The one that the man would use whenever they were boys and would get to being more silly than productive.  

“Pitter patter, get a'ter, boys.”


End file.
